Apifera Farm - where art, story, animals & woman merge. Home to artist Katherine Dunn

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©Katherine Dunn.

Friday, January 31, 2020

Bear and Opie's Love Mobile keep on rolling

Every week the staff and residents notice how Bear is growing. I notice it too. I already look fondly at his first photos here, he is growing like a weed but still is completely a pup. He has a beautiful temperment and each visit I think we bond more with people, and I with him. People keep saying how calm he is. Well, I agree, but then I always add,

"Knock on wood."

I think that initial ride home in the truck, on my lap, for 2 hours was a real bonding thing for Bear. He was so timid, and trusted me instantly. He had too. I taught him basic 'sit' immediately, and within a day he was doing it on command, and does so on our therapy visits. He sits well on people's beds too and isn't too ansy-although as I've said before the home is kept sooooo warm and I give him water but at this stage water means piddle breaks outside, which is fine. The hot temperature of the place makes him pant a bit. Panting can mean other things-pain, anxiety, fear...but in this case, I truly think it is the temperature. He is not as bothered in the beginning hour. Some of the private rooms almost take my breath away they are so hot! If I ever end up there I will have to be buck naked at all times.

Opie has sort of taken a back seat in stardom to Bear, but I think he is okay with that. Opie's real talent lies in going up to people that need him most, something he can't do in The Love Mobile. Come summer when he can be in the courtyard he will be free to show his talent again. Will bear follow suit? We will see.

In the past two weeks, three people we visited at the home have died. They were sudden, and fast deaths. The thing is, you don't do this thinking nobody is going to leave. They all leave. I wonder if I could do this if my parents were still alive? It might sadden me in ways I could not fathom now. It's not that I don't feel sadness at times, I do. In fact, I have to treat myself to decompressing after visits, and sometimes I forget that the visits even though enjoyable and full of laughter too, the energy is very strong on some days, around some people. I have to remember that for the animals too. I have a ritual of pulling energy off their backs as I breath it in, then quickly release my hands as I breathe out. I thank the animals for their work that day.

This residence home is a good fit for what I want to accomplish with my work and animals. The staff is helpful and loves our mission. I am getting to know some of the visiting wives, 'The Wives Club" as they are called. I've been to homes that are so depressing the second you set foot in the place. This is not so here. They try really hard to make it full of life, versus bodies waiting. The rooms are rather hospital like, but that is the stage most of the resident are in, this is not a place you go when you are independent, it is the end of the line basically.

Bear and his friend John who used to have a lab and loves Bear

Opie holds court and Earnie talks to him

Even though he can get out, he stays in his basket with my command

Wednesday, January 29, 2020

Mothers and dogs uniting us

I think people come and go in our lives, some pass by once and make a huge impact, some come and go, teaching us what we need at the moment, some leave and some don't, some remain strangers but they still impact us. Who knows how we each impact someone from afar? Last year I wrote the book called "Little Tulip" starring a little dachshund named Tulip. It was inspired by real people in my life, a composite of elders I knew who told me how they hated when people 'detracted' from their lives-case in point, when people told them they were too old to get another dog. In the book, Mrs. Storey [a real friend of my youth] loses her husband of 60 years. They used to have a dog. She is told many reasons why she should not get a dog. But one comes into her life, and she names it Tulip because she and her husband loved to plant tulips.

Sometime in there one of my followers shared the Tulip in her life, a little dachshund named Fritz who was owned by her mother, who was well into her 90's. She would share a picture or two over the coming months of Fritz and her mother. Well, she informed me one day that her mother was transitioning, and she wanted more "Little Tulip" books for family. Soon after, days I think, she let me know her mother died. She shared this picture of her mother three weeks before her journey. It felt just like the book when Tulip sits with Mrs. Storey.

Her mother died on my mother's birthday. The book shared a mantra that was shared with me when my mother died. On the day of her death, a college friend called me out of the blue and I had not talked to her for 30 years. She had lost both her parents. And she came right to the point [thank you, Sam for calling that day]. She said, "Your mother is okay." While that might seem simplistic, it was the most powerful thing anyone said to me in that time of grief. She wasn't suffering, she wasn't dying, she wasn't gone of earth but she was okay. Whenever I think of anyone-human or creature-that I grieve, I remember that, they are okay. And now that story about a little dachshund named Tulip also carried with it that mantra my friend shared-it will be okay-and someone else was sharing the book with those grieving their mother.

Tuesday, January 28, 2020

Long ago when he arrived I knew someday he might break my heart

White Dog this morning in The Cone of Shame, with Arlo
We had a very serious incident with White Dog {aka Benedetto or Ben} yesterday, and the reality is, we are lucky he is alive. If you follow us on social media you saw the photo at the vet.

White Dog was slashed by Earnest's tusk. This happened once before about a year and a half ago, and it was because they got territorial about some dropped feed on the ground. If you are unfamiliar with a pig tusk, the last 1" or so is literally like a sharp knife. Pigs use their heads to move things out of the way, so they can accidentally slice you without meaning too - I had this happen with Earnest so am always careful when I stand near him-but things can happen.

After that skirmish, I never leave anyone alone with Earnest. We also built him his own paddock and 3 season hut. But in winter, I decided to move him into the interior barn where he lives next to the ponies and White Dog. This way I could keep his water unfrozen, and he'd have company too, and it was warmer.

I often let Ben come running out of his back paddock, through Earnest's paddock, so he can get tot he front field. In winter, the back gate is often frozen. But when I do this, I am careful, and make Earnest stand away. Yesterday as I left the pony stall after chores, White Dog came up from behind to get out of the gate, he wanted to go to his front field to patrol, and as he ran past me, Earnest was there. I don't really know how it started, but it happened fast. By the time I separated them with a rake, White Dog was crying in pain. I have never heard him cry-these are very stoic dogs. He was holding his right foot up.

I got him back in the stall and the blood began coming out in gushes. When it happened before, the gashes were small, and not deep and I could treat them on my own. Maremmas do not like to be messed with when they are hurt or sick, although Ben is better than Marcella. I have a bunch of muzzles I sometimes use, and put one on him, but he got it off fast. So I tried to find the hole and sort of did but the light was dim. I finally let him outside, and the blood was everywhere. In the light, I could see what I was dealing with. A huge 4" or so slit, and wide open, his tissue and more hanging on threads.

It was horrible.

Ben has been in the car once, to get neutered. It is very hard to get him in the car even with two of us, and I was alone. I ran in and called vet hoping maybe he could come to me but he couldn't. So somehow I got Ben in the front floor area of my truck. It hurt him. Blood everywhere. I knew he must be in pain because he allowed me to hold a towel on the open wound. I think the pressure gave some relief.

At the vet he continued to gush blood everywhere. The fist thing we did was take a chest and lung x-ray to make sure it had not been punctured, as that would kill him if he put him under. Fortunately, there was no puncture. So off he went to get put under and shaved. It turned out the tusk, which his about 4", had gone up way farther than I could have seen, and it almost punctured a main artery. If it had, the vet said he probably would have died before I could get him tot he vet-a 15 minute drive.

There were so many thing that could have been worse.

I left him at the vet for the afternoon, and came home to try to settle down. But I was vibrating all day, I just was so shaken. Firstly, I have been so aware about Earnest's tusks and the danger they can present, but even with that knowledge and care, this happened. Shaving them down is problematic, and must be done all the time. Putting a pig under to work on him-I am told by two of my vets-is dangerous [another vet didn't agree]. Some people cut the tusks with clippers, as long as they don't go too deep it supposedly is dead bone, like a hoof trim.

So no matter how careful I am, accidents can happen. We are mulling over what to do to ensure it never happens again. Some of the choices...are hard for me to imagine. I have always been loyal to Earnest. I love the guy. He gave us food when we were sustainable out on our Oregon farm, I wasn't going to leave him when we moved. But...it all seems so daunting right now, so for now...I just want to heal up White Dog.

Martyn was visibly shaken last night. He told me that when he heard, he just was...mad. He didn't want to tell me because he didn't want me to think he was mad at me. He was just mad that it happened to Ben. He told me he was so upset all day, and he realized how much he had come to love Ben, and want him around forever. Martyn has a relationship with White Dog, but the other barn animals are really in relationship with me. He said he just never thought about Ben dying, and he was worried he might not recover. Unbeknowst to me, he went out to barn last night when I was in bed, to check on Ben.

White Dog showed up on our farm, out of the blue. No dog had ever penetrated the fences where are sheep were. And coincidentally, we had a Maremma of our own, Marcella. How he got there is being told in the book I'm getting ready for print, a memoir of White Dog as told by him. But when he did arrive, and he had not yet settled in with us, I told Martyn,

"Someday this dog is going to break my heart."

I always worried he would run from us, not come back or get hit by a car. In the beginning, he did do some run abouts that nearly killed me, but he always came back and he had a lot of land to cover.

But now...as he ages, and is probably about seven, the idea of not having him here is hard to comprehend. Some animals, like people, are bigger than life, bigger than death. White Dog is surely one of those creatures.

Arriving at the barn this morning, there he was, alive. I guess I'm being dramatic, but, I held my breath, the wound was very, very severe, and the vet told me we were very lucky. The drip line that is in the wound, sewn in, will come out Friday at the vet. The wound looked pretty good to me, he is residing in the interior stall, surrounded by the sounds and smells he knows-that is where he wants to be. He actually wants to be outside, but not yet.

I am just so glad he is alive. I try never tell an animal, "Don't die," as it is selfish and unfair to their journey-but I don't want White Dog to ever die. But I know he will, someday, but not today.

Saturday, January 25, 2020

A good death

Else was helped on her way shortly after this article. She had a good death.
{I write a monthly article in Lincoln County News. This was last month's}

“But where is it I will go then?” asked little Opie, the very smallest of the goats, and youngest.

“Go when?” asked old Sophie, a very old goat.

“When I die?” asked Opie.

“You kind of don’t go anywhere, because your body becomes like rain drops and it goes back into the ground so in fact, you will be everywhere,” said Ollie, a bit older than Opie.

“So when you die, I will always be able to talk with you?” asked Opie.

“Sure!” said Ollie, and he romped off to eat a tree.

“It’s just like being the moon,” said Earnest, the very well read pig. “Your body is gone but you become the light of the moon.”

“And you become the sun, and stars and snow,” said old Else, one of the oldest goats.

The conversation had begun because one of the old cats had died, and the animals are always informed by the house boss lady when a death occurs. The animals had seen many herd mates die, and buried. While they don’t carry on in mourning the same way the humans often do, they revered death as an integral part of life, and they respected both. They feared neither. In fact, they sensed death much sooner than most humans. The boss lady always came out and calmly told them who had died, and then she would let them all see the animal lying in repose, and they could sniff the body if they choose. But they knew long before the boss lady when death occurred. It was an innate message but also a scent of the dying that alerted them.

“It sounds like being dead is a very busy time.” said Opie.

“Death is not that important,” said old Else, who was very crippled and old, and felt she was probably the next one to go. “What is important is a good death.”

“What is a good death?” asked Opie.

“Well, think about what it was like to be really little, and you were sitting around with your mother and father, and maybe some other friends, having a nice evening and meal together, and then you got sleepy since you were so young. And your mother tucked you into your straw and kissed you goodnight, and as you fell off to sleep you could hear her and the others chewing their cud, and the moon was out over the barn and maybe you could hear the wind, or smell the ocean nearby...and just like that, you are asleep. That would be a good death,” said Else.

“That sounds okay,” said Opie. “And then when I wake up I would be rain or snow or the moon and you could still see me anytime.”

“That’s right, Opie, all the energy and love in your little body just gets bigger and bigger.”

“I’ve always wanted to be bigger and bigger,” said the little goat in the barnyard. And he ran off to help Ollie eat the tree. “Is this tree someone we once knew?” he asked.

Wednesday, January 22, 2020

Oh, Lord, these two

Mud split a toenal so I bandaged to stop slight bleeding

"What happened to your foot?" Bear wonders.

"I'll live, don't worry, little fella."

Monday, January 20, 2020

Pre-Order the new memoir "White Dog"!


A white dog appeared one day in our sheep field. In the
ten plus years we had lived at our farm, no dog or large
predator had ever breached our fences– that we were
aware of. He was very thin and worn, unkept, hungry
and intact. And, he was a Maremma, the same breed as
our livestock guardian dog that also lived on the farm
who had arrived as a pup about eight months earlier.

How he got there was, and is, a mystery, but it is a tale
laced with magic and universal forces at work.
Maremmas don’t just drop out of the sky, or do they?

I named him Benedetto which means blessed but we all
have come to know him as White Dog.

Looking into White Dog’s eyes from the first time I met
him, I knew there was a story only he could tell. I knew
he left something to come to something else, for a reason.

It is a simple truth that all who meet him come to

White Dog knows.

This intimate book is 4.25 x 6" and at 228 pages is small but stout. It is fully illustrated and also includes a section of photographs of White Dog's world. The story is told by White Dog, along with the guidance of Crow and I am the translator.

By pre-ordering, you are allowing an indie author/publisher to continue to make books. Pre-ordering basically helps pay for the traditional offset printing of the book which must be printed in larger quantities–this allows me to not go into debt and helps me continue to birth high quality off-set books into the world.

The book will be ready around May if not sooner.

Once the printing is paid for, a portion of net profit will be put into the Apifera non profit account at year's end. When you buy this book, it is not a tax deduction [Donations to Apifera Farm are tax deductible.]

There are options in the drop down menu and prices include USA shipping [International orders will have to pay at least another $25 for shipping, do not order unless you are okay with that.]

I have included options so you can simply order a book or two [larger quantities just let me know], but also the $250 and $500 levels let you send extra money to support this indie publisher to get this little book out into the world.


Sunday, January 19, 2020

Thursday, January 16, 2020

New art

I was in the studio this week and have some new prints available...you might recognize The Teapot, and Captain Sparkle.

Available from the online shop.

Tuesday, January 14, 2020

A farewell to old Else, miscalculations and a window opens

Opie views the body. Right after, he came to my side.
Yesterday I got to the front barn and Else would not eat or take water. I always give her a bucket of water so she doesn't have to walk to water bucket....at least for the past month or so, a clear sign she was getting tired. But yesterday, I chose to lift her and move her into a more draft free corner. She cried, in a pain cry. Else never talks. It was clear what she was saying. I went to house to get pain meds, and the injection made her cry out in a distress cry, not a 'hey that hurt cry'. I tried to adjust her body for her, more terrible pain cries.

I told her I would make it right.

Watching an animal suffer is a horrible position to be in, and I was so lucky that one of my vets was very close by, and she came to put her down. She went out like a bulb. She was more than ready.

I had talked to my vet last fall about putting Else down before winter, and I had that in my head as the right thing to do. But then I started really getting good weight on her [for her, she is very thin] and she seemed to be going outside and enjoying life, even though her crippling condition was getting worse, as we knew it would when we adopted her from a state neglect case. For the past months of winter, it has been okay, she was eating, and had a good demeanor. It was about a week ago though that I could tell she had more trouble getting a position that was comfortable. And then yesterday. There was no question we needed to let go.

I am relieved for her.

I told my vet that I had perhaps done her a disservice not acting sooner, but she just didn't seem ready...vets hear this all the time, knowing it is usually the person that isn't ready. But I really didn't think it was time.

So it was a misjudgment on my part. After all the years of doing this, I guess I'm entitled to some miscalculations.

I feel badly though, because she clearly had a morning of pain. But then a big beautiful sleep, and no pain.

This morning she is still in the barn, covered in blankets, with the chickens sleeping on her-it is a process to bury an animal in winter, but we will in the next day or so. It is never a feeling of closure until they are in the ground. I had Wilbur cremated last winter because it was so impossible to bury him with the heavy snow, and I wasn't going to put him out for Nature [I am not opposed to this option, it just doesn't work well in our setting]. I felt really bad about having to take his body into the clinic, put in a freezer to wait for the next cremation pickup. That is how it works. They do the same thing with dogs. And people. I was so relieved to pick his ashes up.

But I want to bury them if I can, return them to the earth in body, feed the worms and tulips.

This morning I did my chores, and I realized how tired I was. I was moving slowly. I have actually given myself permission to move more slowly during chores, and take moments to look and feel and smell it all in. I don't make morning appointments anymore if I don't have to, I just don't want to rush. I've rushed enough. As I did chores I realized how much care taking fills a space, and when the creature or person is gone there is a big space left. I do not have one moment where I think "I wish I didn't have to care for this animal', never, but there is an initial empty space and a feeling of, "now what?" and then, life steps in...another old goat will come along or crippled one...the space Else left will be taken up by another Misfit who fails, or a new comer. A window will open.

So in a way, I guess her death is one more gift-it opens a space, and leaves behind the memory of her sweet self.

The Goose gives Else one last peck...just to make sure.

How I will remember her

Monday, January 13, 2020

The continuing thread of caring for one another

It's my mother's birthday. She died in April, 2013 at 87. I miss her, I miss her as my "go-to shore" to call...but in time, after she died, I realized her death made me more able to understand myself too, and learn and grow in ways I wasn't when she was alive. It's part of the plan. But I miss her. I thought of making her famous dense white cake with fudge frosting...or maybe spaghetti. I remember as a little kid being so excited when I knew she was making her spaghetti.

Over a year ago, a friend I'd known about 7+ years online who was a wonderful, funny, engaged-and helpful-person, died by suicide. Shocking. Sad. From that death, I got to know his mother, who to this day I communicate with online as she continues to grieve, learn, grow, and heal. It is odd how death can bring people together but it happens all the time and I'm grateful for my friend's mother. Seeing her grieve her only son makes me realize how much love my mother had for me, I knew this, but watching my friend's mother grieve makes me realize how many times my mother must have had a broken heart watching me go though hard times as I grew up.

Today my friend happened to send me this FB 'memory' in a message, something I had written on her son's page after he died. How beautiful that it was on my mother's birthday. This thought in this quote became apparent to me as I flew back from my father's funeral, in '08, and I was in the plane in the clouds, and I just felt like he was the sky, the clouds, everything. It physically felt like that.

"I have said before that when a loved one dies, the love they gave, and that I received, somehow expands. I figure that when a person is alive, they have all this love inside them, like energy, and they dole it out over time…but when the body is done, everything is released and the love expands and it explodes out free to be carried all over and merge with everything--the trees and sky, people, flowers…the air…it’s like air, the love expands and we breathe it daily." -- Katherine Dunn

Friday, January 10, 2020

Perhaps the most poignant moment ever

Yesterday I took both Bear and Opie to the elder home for their weekly visit. I wanted to try having both of them there, and I had Polly my assistant volunteer with me and it worked out really well. Opie was in his cart making rounds, and I covered another area of the home with Bear. Again I had his little wagon so when he got tuckered out he could rest.

He did great. I wondered if last week was a fluke but I was so touched by him, and his behavior. He is a bit more puppy like now with another week of living under his belt, but he was calm and focused much of the time. We let him down to walk too and what just slayed me was he would sit on command, watch for me, wait for my next move. We've been working on that in the house-he is rewarded when he is calm with praise and love, when not I ignore him. I've been teaching him tosit, off leash and I couldn't believe it when he was able to be so focused at our visit-everyone ooohed and awed, and I was very proud of him.

But the moment captured in this photo is one of the more poignant moments of my animal therapy career. This is John and last week I told you how he lit up when he met Bear, and that was the first time I'd seen him smile or be animated. He held Bear and just was so happy the entire time. His wife visits him twice a day every day. Well, when we got there yesterday people were excited to see Bear and Opie, and at some point I noticed John and his wife coming down the hall. About 15 feet from us, John saw the puppy and he stretched his arms out, smiling, until he got wheeled up to Bear.

My heart nearly broke into a million pieces.

Opie was treated to a carrot by staff

It's like she was loving him so hard it showed in her face

Se doesn't usually talk a lot

She always had lots of animals in her life

Tuesday, January 07, 2020

When you are hit with disturbing events

The Goose looks to the sky as a plane flies over this morning
My father always used to say to me, "You are such an optimist."

It's true, in general. I always look at a situation as a learning situation...what am I meant to learn here even if it feels uncomfortable? What is my inside crone telling me? What am I hiding from myself?

I feel the heaviness right now...of the entire world, the universe really. Some of you reading might not be upset at all by the current administration, or the global situation, or the immigrant situation, or the global environmental situation...but I am.

And in the last week I have heard disturbing news about animal friends...a horse of a nearby person I get hay from had someone come into his barn, enter a stall and hack off the mane and tail of his horse, with scissors, taking all the hair with them. I guess it is a thing, people stealing horse hair. Someone out west recently had extremists enter their property and let the llamas out. Another friend is shutting down her horse rescue of ten years due to ten years of online harassment from extreme thinkers [they too came to her farm and let the horses out, all were brought back safely].

It all leaves me feeling sort of vulnerable. I write and share so much online. I enjoy sharing my animals and photos and art. Lately, I have not felt so much like sharing my thoughts that much. I have been doing it for, ten or more years I guess since I started the blog and then Facebook took over everyone's life. Lately I've been feeling much more vulnerable on social media, and when I heard about the horse hair incident...it shook me up.

But then there is the positivity of intention. When I first arrived in Portland, Oregon, before I meant Martyn or before Apifera and I was still illustrating, I felt a shift. The illustration world died after 9/11, or died from what it once was. I wanted to get into animal massage, and paint for galleries and make books somehow. So I entered massage school to become a masseuse thinking in time I could segway into animal therapy, while I still did my art. I went through three grueling semesters, did well, but realized this was not for me. Soon after, Martyn and I married and a year later moved to the farm.

So here I am, 15 years later, giving daily animal massages.

When I was in my teens, I wanted to be a vet. Minnesota has an excellent vet school, and eventually I knew the science aspect was not for me, I don't think that way.

And here I am 15 years later, and in some ways, I am a vet.

I wanted to paint for galleries and I did {but after years of that, grew wary of the gallery gig and do not partake in galleries anymore]. I wanted to write, and I did, and make books and I did.

The point is, intention is a powerful form of energy. I always say my animals understand my intention and you can't hide your intention from an animal. So when faced with fear, or unsettled feelings, I have to remember to ask myself what is my intention...what do I need?

My life has shifted for sure. I still paint, but it is different. It feels like the intention of my painting is different. I said years ago I wanted to work with my animals in therapy for elder people. And here I am doing it on a regular basis.


I am not in my stdio the number of hours I was out West. For the last year I kept thinking, I need to get back to that. But...I haven't. And it is becoming an okay state of affairs for me, and as I was doing barn chores, and taking time to massage old Honey, and some others, I realized, I am doing exactly what I want to be doing, when I want...and I set that intention forth years ago.

Art is my guts or joy or light in paint or in a book. I will always do that. My elder work, my animal work is my intention at this juncture. I'm graced I got here.

Old Sophie this morning, she gets a forehead massage most mornings

Sunday, January 05, 2020

The man who I never saw smile...laughs with Bear

Earnie looking proudly at Bear

I guess the feeling I had when I took him on his visit....he really gets it, I sense he really understood, just like Opie, this is my intention for you, and you have this in you, and he does. Not every animal is prone to this. It instills what I already voiced...Bear was meant to find me and I was meant to find him at the exact time we did. It's called grace.

I took Bear to Cove's Edge on Thursday for his first outing. I had a secure little red wagon for him if he got overwhelmed. I did not want to overdue it, as he is still very young but I want to acclimate him to the wheel chairs and sounds, and he can begin meeting people. He had no fear there of the wheels.

The first person at the front to greet was was...Earnie! Of course, it was Earnie and that was perfect. Earnie held Bear easily, even with one arm, and it was a good start because bear could snuggle and get used to things. Of course he was a magnet for the staff, who need animal therapy as much as the residents. He was calm, steady, and I must say...focused.

I also was pleased that he knew my voice and knew he was safe.

We went around in the cart and then I'd put him on people's beds or laps. There was not an incidence where he squirmed [this might change as he matures!].

One of my most moving encounters was when a gentleman was wheeled over, by his wife who visits twice a day every day, and I have never seen him smile. He is usually slumped in his chair sleeping, and he can't talk. But when we put Bear in his lap he smiled, and smiled, and held him, petted him looking at him with a smile the whole time. His wife told be they had a lab at one time. That was so beautiful. He did not take his hands of that pup, nor did he stop smiling.

Another gentleman came out of his room to see Bear. I was told he usually does not come out much, but he had owned a pet shop for 30 years. He came to see Bear. It was beautiful too.

I was so proud of him. I really wasn't sure how the day would go and again, I knew it might be a short visit. I did not want a bad experience for him, nor did I want him over handled or over stimulated. But none of that happened. He sat on his last lap after about an hour visit there, and I could see he was getting a bit unfocused, so we put him in the cart and he fell off to sleep. We could still visit with people, but it was hard to get out the door with him-people kept wanting to pet him. I allowed that even though he was sound asleep.

He did great in the car too. He is doing really well with house training thanks to my crate and little pen in the living room. I am up and down a lot and he has not pooped once in the house, thank you Bear, or his crate. His worst hours are 5-6 pm, because it is dinner hour making for us, and he wants to be part of the activity, which he is in his pen by the fireplace, but any activity and I have to get him out to pee. He's getting it though.

The man who I never saw smile...with Bear

Focused on his work

Thursday, January 02, 2020

If you don't like puppies look away

Bear at 8.5 weeks

I am in puppy overload, puppy heaven, puppy piddle, puppy joy....so you might want to take a break from all my social media links if for some reason you are adverse to puppies.

Bear has been here 3.5 full days. He is settling wonderfully and his personality is starting to emerge. He is sleeping most of the night, and understands outside is piddle madness area, and inside is piddle oops area. He is doing really well with pooping outside.

I know you wanted to know that.

Anyway, I am a bit distracted, lots of work ahead with him but right now, it is pure joy to wake up to him, to watch him do so many 'firsts' [stairs, vaccuums, television, music, The Goose and much more].

I have told the barnyard that Bear is needing my energy for a bit longer but they are fine, everyone is wel ad we are in a new year of hope...hope...hope for so much.

For now, just enjoy these photos of Bear.

A kind follower sent bear his first snuggly-a Birdie to watch over him

Bear has a crate den to sleep in

Bear explores

I lucked out on this shot of Bear under a watchful moon